A Tale of Nerdy Grooming
by BWjournal
Summary: Richard Castle's life has always been influenced by whatever he reads, watches or experiences... and has a LOT of fun with it. Now, how does this play with Kate Beckett in his life... having fun, in his shower?


**ok.**

**I admit it, I'm procrastinating from E-of-E and what has been baptized as _Coffee cup fic_, but fear not. I just needed this nugget out of my system.**

**A few notes on it. Totally came up to me while showering, figuring out what fun it could be to have a shower buddy and reading this from Patrick Somerville from "The Wildlife Biologist" from _The Universe in Miniature in Miniature_: **

_"I knew about love because of my showers in the morning, when I would still be half-asleep, the water coming down over my face, and I would already be thinking about him as I crawled to life. I had had four boyfriends, three if you didn't count a summer hookup with my cousin's friend Phillip from Phoenix, who had come to stay for three weeks and who talked, a lot, about web sites. He had once gotten me alone in my bedroom and had sat on the bed and had said, 'I'm interested in romantic' - he touched my hand - 'relationships.' That was the end."_

**Now don't be thinking this smut nugget is a feels-fest, but it does have its moments, the rest is just my offering to all of those that went and asked for it. I might actually use this quote later on, on a fic, for inspiration or what not.  
**

* * *

"Put it down," Kate warns him, her voice stern and severe. She isn't playing games; the bite of her cropped words is enhanced by her firm stance even though the scene itself is laughable.

Her hands grip her naked hips, her lips scrunch trying to hold back the nervous smile that's wanting to spill, and daggers are threatening to fly from her eyes. _Self-defense_, she thinks; _don't let him know you're actually enjoying this_.

No, that would be too much satisfaction.

Castle smirks at her, that mischievous spark in his eyes. His approach to her is almost threatening, like a tiger after his prey. In the dim light of the bathroom, his eyes turn dark; probably a natural response of his pupils, or possibly it could be the effect she has on him. Desire, after all, has a magical ability to affect every single part of his body. He's playing it cool, seductive and suave, but his eyes, _oh those eyes_, they speak of hunger right now.

For such a solid and robust man, he has these ways about him that she admires, even though his clumsiness gets the best of him sometimes. Maybe he is a ninja, indeed… Her own clownish ninja.

She enjoys how he likes to surprise her. The way he softly pads his way into the kitchen, startling her when she tries to cook breakfast for him before he wakes up. Or the hidden dancing talents he rarely let others see. The amazing and intricate postures he manages to get her into while they are in bed.

He's got the moves, nimble Mr. Castle.

As he walks the short distance between the vanity and the shower stall, Kate imagines that this could easily be part of a NatGeo special: Tiger spots gazelle, gazelle spots tiger. Tiger advances; crouching, calculating. And no matter what the gazelle does; run, jump or hide, have the herd confuse the tiger, fate has been written.

No matter what Kate Beckett does, she rarely gets to convince Richard Castle otherwise once he gets an idea in his head. And right now, she stands expectant, the mist and steam of the shower adding to the setup as he stalks his way to her, hunger in his eyes and a razor in his hand.

"You said I could ask for anything…" Sly eyes travel up and down her naked body and she feels so exposed. He steps into the shower, crowding her, pushing her body towards the jet stream. The water bounces off her skin and the heat makes her so very aware of the arousal that starts to spread through her, like thick molasses enveloping her senses.

Castle pulls her closer; his lips graze her jaw, licking his way to her lips, crushing them in need - hungry and demanding - rendering her powerless for the briefest of moments.

The sounds that surround her are almost hypnotic; the delicate splatter of the water on the granite tiles, their combined labored breathing, and the most erotic of them all… the wet sound of their lips and tongues, savoring, probing, nipping at each other's swollen and reddened flesh. She can't help the moan that hums in her throat, which tumbles past her lips and triggers his smile; Kate can feel it smug against her. She knows that he enjoys knowing this; what he does to her.

_I want to shave you, _he'd said, and she'd known she was in for a whole trunk load of trouble.

"I should know by now that I have to be _so_ very careful with words around you."

He places the razor by the toiletries and brings his right hand to her nape, caressing, almost calming, but he's been enjoying her nervousness; she can see it in his eyes, he's almost giddy with excitement.

Fingers travel down her throat, gliding on wet skin further down, caressing her collarbone. He found that spot right away, that very first night; it drove her crazy, knees growing weak, air running short. _Ugh, this man_.

"I'll be careful," he smiles, absently zigzagging his fingertips between her breasts, eyes never leaving hers. "After all, I shave my beautiful, beautiful face… Every. Single. Day."

Kate rolls her eyes, in an exaggerated reaction to his ego boost; not only is he annoying her with his own narcissistic tendencies but also, he hasn't been shaving every single day lately… Not that she's complaining. The roughness of his skin adds a new level of excitement, especially when he has her writhing and gasping at his skilled ministrations between her legs.

"Ok, not every single day, but you get the point," he concedes, continuing his exploration, lazy and tentative, of the soft skin around her left areola. "Plus, Kate this is nothing. I mean… your razor might as well be a silk covered cloud compared to the types of razors I get to use."

The rhythm is maddening, so gentle and enjoyable, her breathing quickening, and here she was thinking that they would take twenty minutes tops to get out of this shower. She should know better by now.

His hand circles her waist and she anticipates that he is about to get down to business, but he arches her to him, his mouth finding her right nipple, suckling and licking it as if he were enjoying some succulent fruit. Her fingers thread through his hair, wet and slick with the water that bounces off him, half wanting to push him away, half wanting him to continue. He's enjoying her so much that the thought of stopping him seems cruel. She closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in the sensation; his tongue and his lips creating the right amount of suction and friction. She can feel her pulse speed its pace steadily until he releases her plump skin with an audible pop.

She can't help the complaint that reads in the groan that escapes her and he grins against her skin, looking up at her flushed face. "You should be thankful that we're not in medieval times…" A devilish snicker grows past his lips, accented with a gentle scrape of his teeth on her tender skin. And she knows; she _knows_ what he's thinking.

"You can't possibly be bringing up _Game of Thrones_ right now!" She playfully pushes him off of her, a scoff diluting into bubbling laughter that he drinks off her lips.

"Oh, I think of _Game of Thrones_ about twenty times a day, but no, you'd be mistaken," he clarifies matter-of-factly, coming up for air.

He can be such a nerd sometimes, but she loves his sense of wonderment, even if it is _pervy_ wonderment.

"Medieval European women rarely shaved," he continues, lowering himself down Kate's torso, splotching her skin with delicious kisses and nips; his hands settle on the curve of her ass and pull her closer to him, her skin a theme park specially designed for his needs. "Unless… you're talking about their jolly women, and in that case, they got their beauty secrets from the Egyptians, and they favored bees wax, sugar concoctions and fabric strips. Some others preferred threading-"

Castle is so enthralled in his explanation of these methods that he completely misses the moment when curiosity totally took over her, hands stilling on his shoulders.

It still amazes her, that not only he can maintain such an intricate conversation throughout their explorations, but also that she gets to enjoy a man like him. Sometimes it seems like he's always taking from her, enjoying her more and invading her more than she gets to do her own conquering, but being able to watch him appreciate her, the delight in his eyes and the need palpable on his skin, it makes her dizzy and overcome with emotion. There's a part of her that takes immense pride in that.

"What?" he asks, his head tilting and a soft smile smeared on his lips. He knows that she's gone deep in her head again, and she loves how she doesn't even worry about that anymore, seeming distracted and lost in her thoughts while his lips play with her skin. His question is not out of insecurity but curiosity, out of need to join her in her own fantasies.

"I- I don't even want to know why you know this detailed summary of medieval grooming techniques…"

He clears his throat and delivers a last kiss to the top of her thigh before straightening back up. Hmm, he's stalling, she can tell, but then again so is she. He pats the surface of the shower bench and signals her to sit, his movements full of flourish as he turns on the wall jets, setting them into a relaxing and warm stream that bathes her back side as she leans onto the seat.

"Just plain curiosity," he assures, reaching for the can of shaving cream and the razor by his side.

She meets his eyes as mischief settles on his features, anticipation written all over them as he squeezes a mound of foam in the palm of his hand.

Her eyes follow his movements as he kneels in front of her, separating her thighs, deftly caressing the insides with the back of his fingers. She takes a deep breath, her stomach twisting and curling in somersaults and her heart pounding in anticipation. She busies her hands to cover her nervousness, twirling her fingers through the ends of her hair, biting her lips, her tongue wetting them more frequently, as her mouth grows dryer.

"Seriously, I was genuinely curious about this historical fact," he justifies, licking his lips, mimicking her, and accentuating the C and the T for emphasis.

"Sure, Castle. Why on earth-?" she starts but her words get lost in the sensation of his fingers cupping her, applying the silky suds to her mound, deftly caressing her skin through her curls.

There's a moan, a soft, deep sigh that escapes her; she swears that it bounced off the walls, reverberating with its heady need and it dawns on her that her sounds are doing a fine job of heightening her arousal. She looks at Castle through hooded eyes and he's smiling at her, tracing the contour of her through the foam.

"Spill it, Castle. How do you know that?"

"Fine," it's his turn to roll his eyes in a perfect imitation of her signature move. "I was kind of obsessed with pointing out inaccuracies in R. R. Martin's scenes… It's kind of a competitive, nitpicky, writer thing."

"How—Why-" She snickers, shaking her head at this quirk, while he busies himself making peaks out of the shaving cream.

"They're all very trimmed and neat… down here." He taps his fingers on her pubic bone as if he's playing a piano, and he is, in a way, playing her. He's candid about his curiosity and the intimacy of his actions fluster and bother her with need. She doesn't know if she'll be able to go through this whole process unharmed.

"Why are you even focusing on that?" she counters, and she knows this is a stupid question, men being the way they are, but she wants to hear it from him. Kate anticipates some smartass justification about biology and men's hormones.

"Oh, come on, Beckett," he retorts, literally stifling a laugh. "You sit right next to me when we watch. It's not like you look the other way."

She'd be damned but that backfired on her. He looks intently at her, and she knows what he wants; admission of guilt. He's using her own interrogation techniques on her and she would hate him for it, but his finger is circling her clit and her breathing is becoming labored, her blood is rushing down and center, sparking fiery paths as it travels through her veins.

His free hand travels up her torso, the back of his fingers grazing her right nipple, teasing it mercilessly, the heat radiates off her making it hard to resist him and keep this just about _grooming_. She doesn't look away. It's a battle of wills, their eyes wandering between all their favorite parts, and she can see how much this foreplay is doing it for him as well. Her eyes focus on his manhood that now stands proud at attention. A shaky breath escapes her and she's caught red handed; he searches her eyes again, smiling at her bashful response when she looks away.

"Admit it, Kate." Castle pinches the puckered peak with just the right amount of pressure, twisting it between his thumb and index finger. She tries to resist, her head thrown back and biting her lip; her hands grip the edge of the bench but the sensations are overwhelming enough to make her close her eyes and relish in the electricity that courses through her. Another moan vibrates out of her, louder this time, almost surprising, matched by his exhale, the moist air caressing the delicate patch of skin of her thigh where he's resting his jaw. He's enjoying this view, she's sure of it. She doesn't open her eyes when he starts to kiss and nibble her inner thigh, and his thumb circles her nerves more intently.

"Fine… I like the show," she concedes, not being able to control the tinge of desperation in her voice.

"You more than _like it,_" he continues, taunting her, and she's had enough. She gathers all her resolve and grabs that naughty hand that has been playing her so expertly.

"Do you want to survive today? 'Cause dead people can't use a razor."

"Oh, so I'm good to go?" he asks, excited and giddy, grabbing onto the pink rake and waving it as if it were a magic wand.

She allows the humor in his voice to invoke a calming breath in her, to gather her senses and steady her pulse… Because… he's about to graze a very sharp object to her skin; her very sensitive skin.

"Castle…" she instructs, lifting his chin to draw his attention, eyes zeroing in on his, eyebrow arched and defiant, and her voice regaining the control she so fervently wants. "If you even manage to scratch, pinch, slightly, just so very subtly cut me with this razor, so help me god, I will be using it for more murderous tasks."

"Kate, I think you seem to forget how much I _enjoy_ this area," he soothes, rising on his knees, leveling with her. "It wouldn't be in my interest to hurt my favorite… playground." He ghosts his lips over hers, his tongue parting them, exploring the heat with demanding caresses.

One more lick, one more nip, their noses sharing Eskimo kisses and mouths slack sharing breaths.

He winks at her and she smiles at his sexy banter.

"Ready?"

She takes a deep breath and nods a shy smile. Kate bites on her bottom lip as he lowers between her knees with a Cheshire cat smile spread on his face.

The first swipe comes carefully and controlled, and Kate can see the mix of delight and concentration in Castle's face. She knows she'll never get it, she'll never understand all of the intricacies of his mind, but that doesn't stop her from admiring how it works. From sophisticated to primal, he is an amazing puzzle. Before her, all she sees is how his curiosity reveals a primal side to him, because, as she lets go of the breath she's been holding, she realizes that this is another way that he's branded her, possessed her. He's claiming ownership of another intimate realm of her. Kate mentally slaps herself at how it sounds, a sense of drama that might be a result of his effect on her, but it rings true to her. It might be a silly thing, letting him shave her, but this is trust, intimacy, ease settling between them; wide-open allowance to another space that had been stored under the "personal" label.

"Do you want a special design?" he asks without tearing his eyes from his task, busy as he glides the gel covered piece over the outer sides of her front.

"A design?"

"Yeah, like are we going for just a landing strip or for something like a lightning bolt?"

She laughs at his suggestions, careful to not move too much under his touch.

"I'm serious, or… are we favoring the international tendencies here and going Brazilian?"

He wriggles his eyebrows at her and she grabs onto his hand to still his movements when she can't hold in the laugh anymore.

"I don't know that I trust your barber skills that much," she confesses, sobering up. "Plus, it's a Brazilian when it's wax; it's a Full Monty when you use… a razor."

He shakes his head, determined to go back to his task, this time examining the symmetry of his handy work, tracing what would be the outlines of her underwear on the foam coating her skin.

"Tell you what," he proposes without losing sight of his work area. "I think you should close your eyes."

"Why?" The lack of control she already has over the situation would only be worse if she wasn't supervising him, overseeing, stopping him from… well, she doesn't exactly know from what, but the thought of it heightens her nervousness.

He stills her with a look, not a peep for a few seconds, almost reprimanding her without words. He doesn't really need them, because she knows what he's saying: _Trust me._

"Let me do my job."

"But-" She bites on her lip and takes another cleansing breath.

"Shh. We don't need any backseat drivers."

"We?" she scoffs in confusion.

"Yeah, trusty Daisy and I," he says, waving the pink, foam covered razor.

"You've officially lost it," she says, laughing and rolling her eyes at his ridiculousness.

"Eyes. Closed." He orders, pointing at her with the wand, and she obeys. If she's allowed him to go this far, she should commit to it. "No peeking. Promise."

"I promise."

She doesn't break her vow. It's such a strange feeling; she hears the quiet gurgling of the water pouring down her back, and the occasional splatter of the razor when he shakes it clean. She hears faint sighs and hums coming from him, the splashing of the main shower hitting the tiles or his back… and her heart, racing in anticipation every time he takes another swipe.

She does her best, to keep her hands still; one grips the edge of the bench and the other rests over her breast, as if trying to calm her anxiety. She doesn't do well not knowing things.

She tries to guess what he's doing by the sensations as he touches her skin; she has to give it to him, he's being so delicate, perhaps even more careful than she would be doing the job herself. But why wouldn't he be? He adores her, and this is just another way he shows her how much, carefully perusing her skin, softly grazing, stretching her skin in all the right angles, artfully, skillfully, until it becomes almost imperceptible. And that's a good thing… and a very bad one.

On the one hand, Kate is thanking whatever force up above that his touch remains neutral because the stimulation was becoming too much for her, but on the other hand… she can't accurately tell the advances of his handy work. She could peek, but that would be cheating.

She wants to look, so bad… and then she feels his hand around one of her ankles, lifting her foot to rest on his shoulder.

"Castle! What are you doing!?"

"Shh, I'm being thorough," he says, his voice ever so calm, and she feels a furious blush creep on her skin realizing what he's about to do. She shouldn't care, her rational side argues, he's already knee deep, literally, into this task, but she hadn't thought this through, or anticipate he'd be so detailed at this. _But of course he is_, she berates, this is Richard Castle, he will pursue anything until he's examined every angle and crevice… and well, this is a fine example of that.

She feels the careful glide of the razor and she can't help but tense in fear.

"Castle, there's no need to… I can do that later -"

"Kate, relax," he says, ghosting one hand over her thigh, reassuring. "I'm almost done."

She lets out a frustrated grunt when she hears him snicker at her apprehension.

"Why are you all up in arms about this part?"

Yeah, why is she? It's not like they haven't already explored every inch of each other.

"I just… I don't know why but, it's just…" she really can't explain herself right now when regardless of her discomfort, he continues through.

"Stuff?" he completes.

And that's exactly it, that abstract concept that envelops those parts of her that are either private or uncharted; those that she might even not stroll herself. And here's Richard Castle, grooming places of her that she won't even admit women need to acknowledge.

"See? That wasn't so hard…" he says lowering her foot to the floor. "Wait up, almost there." She hears him step out of the shower, rummage through the vanity drawers, and then return… A soft click, and then the warm spray of the hand shower between her legs.

"Can I open my eyes now?" She asks, impatient but excited at the same time. She has to admit, curiosity is killing her. Kate feels him tenderly washing her, the stream of warm water bathing and caressing her skin, his fingers lazily tracing her labia, letting the water run through her sensitive folds, the freshly shaved area and his ministrations making every touch be one filled with heightened awareness.

Castle turns the hand shower away and clears his throat.

"Okay. Now you can open your eyes."

She slowly opens one of them, as if bracing for impact. He's smiling proud back at her, a hand mirror reflecting the "work area" and his eyes darting between her face and his masterpiece, smugness spread all over his face.

And then there it is; a neatly trimmed patch of hair, in the shape of a leaf.

"You like?" He asks, tracing the edges of the teardrop form.

"Yeah," she confirms, a little bashful, a little relieved, a little in awe. "You did a really good job."

"You think?" He asks casually, angling the mirror so she can see all of the hard to reach sides. "No nicks? No burns?"

"No, just perfect… but why a leaf?"

And then it's his turn to be shy, if there was ever a moment.

"What is it?" she probes softly.

"You'll think I'm a sap… but, yeah, I thought it was fitting." His voice is sober, but with a hint of marvel behind it, that innocent tone laced through its warmth. Kate looks at him, eyebrows rising and a sense of wonderment at this man. "It's a leaf, because…" he sets the mirror on the floor and rises to his knees, coming closer to her, hands caressing her sides, his lips merely inches from hers and his tone filled with a tinge of playful mockery. "…It makes _it_ look like… a pretty, delicate, flower."

She rolls her eyes and laughs at the cornyness of his joke but when the mirth dies down, he smiles, and she smiles, and she sees the little boy in him, in the basic simplicity of it all. When all the games and formulas come down, and they let each other be true, this is what she sees in him. And it never ceases to amaze her that they've chiseled their way so deep within each other.

"You're right, you're a sap, but you're just in luck; I was running low on it lately."

She smiles against his lips, suckling onto his plump bottom one, tilting her head, diving in, letting her hands roam from nape to waist, trapping his hips between her legs, drawing him in, closer and closer. He follows her, his hands grazing and gliding over her wet skin, finally giving her the contact she craves, more of him over every inch of her.

He licks and scrapes the delicate skin of her neck, careful to press just enough, not breaking the skin, and she likes the raw force that speaks of his own very powerful need for her. His erection pokes at her center, rigid and hot, and the shared moan that tumbles past their lips is like the primal call that makes her lose herself into her instincts. She needs more.

"In me," she pleads between kisses.

"Just like that?"

"Usually, I don't have to…" she grabs him by the hair and crushes his lips, demanding and filled with want. "…Ask too hard."

"Hmm, I like you this way," he grunts out, hooking his hands under her knees and lifting them at unison.

"How?" Her breath is ragged and forceful as he bends her, thighs to her chest, crowding her with the pressure of his body on hers.

"Hungry," he responds, seductively as he grabs himself and makes a quick swipe between her folds to plunge in her in a fast and rough move.

The breathless scream that resonates out of her speaks of the pleasure that takes her by surprise, her walls stretching violently, pleasure and pain in just the right amount. He focuses on her, not looking away while he begins to move, in a combination of long and slow moves and fast and short invasions that she can't predict. With every thrust of his hip, a brief contact of their pubic bones is made, sending a jolt directly from her clit to her spine. He's controlling the angle and reading her well, placing both his hands under her buttocks, lifting her just so, while she holds on to his shoulders, trying to keep up with him, with his response to her request. This is hot, and wanton, and she loves every piece of it.

He puts a well-placed thumb on her nub, rubbing furiously and every nerve end gets a dose of energy that starts to light up everything in her; the heat becomes unbearable, and she's getting what she wants, he's all-in on her, but she wants this to last and she can see the strain on him is bad on his knee in this position. She can't have him not enjoy himself as well.

"Castle," she manages between ragged breaths. "Switch, you sit."

"What?" Unfocussed eyes stare back at her through heavy eyelids, tousled hair and that off-guard expression that he always sports when she stops them mid mindblowing sex. She manages to untangle herself from him and forcefully moves him, demanding, exchanging their positions and taking charge.

Castle settles in his new position, his eyes hungrily travelling up and down her body, his tongue licking his lips as if he was suddenly fighting an intense thirst. She swallows, trying to regain some composure and deciding what she wants to do next; what she wants to touch, bite, savor, a million ways her body is asking her to ravage this man. Her breath comes in short bursts and her heart races when his strong hands reach for her hips, pulling her to him to continue his assault. But she puts a hand to his muscular chest, stopping his actions.

"My turn to decide." Kate winks at him, she can play the dominant game very well too. She doesn't step away, but she grabs his hands, raising them above his head and placing them at his nape. "These stay here."

"I already like this," he chuckles, his voice raw. She levels with his lips, teasing them, and he growls battling his own need. Kate stares deeply into his eyes, a dare to let her overpower him; he swallows as if suddenly afraid of her and his breathing becomes shallow, tickling her skin. She can feel the arousal coursing through her in waves, the need to continue what she just stopped, anticipation rattling her while her hands trace symmetrical paths over his collarbones and down his chest.

She kneels and cruises her nails through the short hairs of his robust thighs, up and down, teasing, raking paths on his skin with just enough pressure to make the little sting a pleasure. Kate slowly makes her way to his erection; it strains upwards, begging for her attention and glistening with her own juices. She takes him in her hands, soft pressure on the velvety skin, a firm hand at its base and another stroking lazily, circling the sensitive tip. A groan courses through him, as she picks up the pace, goose bumps spreading on his skin.

Kate looks up and the effect of her ministrations show clearly on his face; his eyebrows knitted in concentration, eyelids closed shut, his mouth slack and perspiration beading on his skin. She loves this, she loves this a whole lot.

"Too much?" she asks as she blows slowly across the glossy head of his penis. She doesn't need a response when the shudder breaks through him, an almost painful hiss through gritted teeth that dissolves into a variety of expletives when she delicately licks the sensitive crevice and collects the moisture in one sweep. Kate can taste herself on his skin and that adds a new level to her own arousal. She knows he's been holding on for a while, so licking the underside of his shaft from base to tip is really, just plain cruel… hence, why she's enjoying it so much.

"Shit, Kate," he blurts, and every muscle of his body coils tight, eliciting a breathy and contented sigh from her. But she won't let him out of his misery that fast. With one firm hand she pulls at his sack, delaying his release if only for just a few more moments for her own enjoyment.

She lifts herself from her position between his legs to place soothing kisses on his temple, whispered nothings that seem to help lower his heart rate and then he allows himself to open his eyes. They're deep and ravenous, almost dangerous in their darkness, like a feral animal ready for a feast.

"I need you."

She takes his mouth, drowning his request, rough tongues clashing in a desperate dance, bruising and hot, teeth pulling almost enough to draw blood. And then she turns her back to him, positioning herself over his lap and trapping his erection between her folds, spreading her moisture all over his length, rubbing herself shamelessly over him, overtaken by how this is doing it so much for her, her now smooth skin over-sensitized.

He grabs onto her hips and she doesn't care that he's no longer obeying her, because his tip is hitting her clitoris with every thrust and she can feel the blinds start to close in, the tunnel vision settling in, and the delicious buildup of sensation making her sex feel like it's about to burst.

She turns her head to him, leans back and nestles her nose in the crook of his neck as her hand takes his and guides his erection slowly inside her. Her gasp muffles against the moist skin of his neck, his groan a long howl as every inch of him buries inside her again, still tight and even more wet, sheathed to the hilt.

Castle keeps his hand at their union, grazing her nerves with every bump, but she's controlling her pace. They're slow at first, the friction and her inner muscles making delicious conversation, but then she changes the angle, pressing her thighs together, leaning forward and reclaiming the movements with more urgency. He likes this, if the little sounds emanating from him are to tell about his sensations, grunts and gritted words mixed with shuddering sighs. His hands brace her torso and play with every patch of skin available to him; pinching her nipples, teasingly palming her butt cheeks, massaging her breasts, guiding her torso as her movements start to get sloppier in a mix of exertion and over stimulation.

"God, you're so sexy," he says between labored breaths, as he licks the sweat that drips down her back, his tongue rough and his stubble adding to the irresistible sensation of him. Kate bites her lips, trying to hold on, just a bit more, she promises herself, spotting her goal on the horizon of sensations in her mind. She reaches for his hands, twining their fingers as she rides her way into abandon, her mewls and groans transforming into noises that she barely recognizes as her own. She's so close, she can feel the quiver start its electric hum inside her, and every other part of her is expendable but her center, that place where they're conjoined in excruciating pleasure.

He places their hands on her hips and his fingers grip her with bruising pressure, guiding her down and back, while she circles her hips above his, desperate; she feels the graze of his teeth sinking on the soft flesh of her back, her sensations dancing on the edge of pain, finally falling as her body convulses with pent up energy and every sense short-circuits on her.

He clings to her, his orgasm just a few moments behind, but he needs a little bit more of her, she knows that he does this; more of her, more of them. She wonders sometimes if it's that he thinks that they may not get a next time, and that the ephemeral character of life terrifies him and he doesn't want to let go of this moment when he's about to lose all control.

She's learned to discover the pleasure of this, when she's still too sensitive, her nerves raw and exposed; any other lover, any less understanding man and it would have bothered her… but she lets herself tumble again to the other side of nirvana with him. On that side, it's not just another orgasm that overtakes her as he clings to dear life, while he comes deep within her with the strength of earth shattering forces, it's the complete and certain sense that in this very moment, there's nothing but the essence of them; complete and utter, absolute love.

In this very moment, she laughs at her walls.

* * *

"So, did you like it?" he asks tentatively, as they sit spent, leaning against the headboard of their bed.

"It will hurt a little, I'm sure."

"Why?" he asks, startled, turning himself to her in worry.

She snickers a little pushing him back down.

"Calm down, its ok," she responds with a smile and a tender kiss to his lips. "It's just that, you know, freshly shaved skin, continuous hot friction right after… you do the math."

"Ugh, I should have thought of that!"

"Nothing a good lotion and cotton underwear won't be able to fix." And she's also looking forward to the little pain be a reminder of such a hot encounter.

"I can take care of the lotion part," he proposes, pulling her to him. "In fact, I shall take that as my job. It's the least I can do… I can also pick your underwear, make sure it's the softest pair…"

"I'm sure you'd like all of that," Kate slaps him playfully on his chest. "But stay away from my underwear drawer, I have to fold everything again when you go through it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I'll like it even better the second time around," she kisses him, sloppy and wet, one leg over his hips, the covers guarding them from the chill of the room."…And the third and fourth. We just gotta get you some other designs."

"Oohh, I know! The Enterprise insignia!"

"If I'm going to be having any intergalactic branding, Castle," she warns crowding him, "let me remind you that it will always be Nebula 9."

* * *

**To Ky, from who I totally and shamelessly stole the _Game of Thrones_ prompt. I still didn't ask if you wanted to go for it, but hey, I hope I did it justice. And as always, my #ing 3 belongs to you. **

**To Tiff, who's guttural response to one of these paragraphs made me cringe with her and I hope I fixed it enough for you. **

**Now, you know the drill, I actually NEED you guys to favorite the story, me, review it, love me with words or hate me with screams... no, seriously, We're review whores and we love you even when you leave a note to hate us for destroying what you think should or shouldn't be. **

**Love ya all!**


End file.
